


Sick Discovery

by papesdontsellthemselves



Category: Rent - Larson
Genre: Panic Attacks, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 20:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11409630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papesdontsellthemselves/pseuds/papesdontsellthemselves
Summary: How did we get here? How the hell?Mark feels the weight of the world on him as he struggles to help Roger through the aftermath of April's death.





	Sick Discovery

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys so this is my first fic, be gentle. Mark has a panic attack at a point so be warned. I edited it a little bit because I was unhappy with how I wrote Roger at first. I'll update more soon.

Sick Discovery

Mark was the one who discovered April’s cold, naked, bloody body on the floor of the bathroom that was connected to Roger’s room. He had gotten into the apartment first, Roger was still downstairs talking to Benny. Upon the sight of April, Mark felt his legs go numb. His heartbeat quickened, filling up his ears. The world grew foggy, everything felt distant. He urged his legs to move forward and kneel in front of the lifeless body. Desperately, he felt for a pulse, knowing he would feel nothing. His eyes fell upon a crumpled note near her body. He reached out a shaking hand to pick up the note and read it, We’ve got AIDS.. He felt sick.   
“Mark? Dude, where are you?”  
“Rog..don’t come in here-I can’t, she’s. Rog don’t look.”  
“What? What are you talking about. Are you okay?”  
“I-she just. You can’t…c-call 911, Rog.”  
“What’s happening, Mark? Answer me, just tell me what’s-“  
“CALL 911 ROGER, please..she needs help. She isn’t…she just-oh my god.”  
“What the fuck. Who? April? I’m fucking coming.”  
“Roger no-“  
The door banged open and Mark saw the color drain from Roger’s face. His eyes were glued to the deep slits on April’s wrists. He stared for what seemed like eternity, his lips slightly parted. Suddenly he turned to Mark, taking him in. Then he saw the note. Mark braced himself for Roger’s reaction, but was surprised when Roger’s voice came out level.  
“Mark, move away from her blood.”  
“Rog-wha?”  
“Mark. Get away from her blood. Wash your hands right now. Get if OFF of you. Now.”   
Mark complied silently. Watching as the blood from his hands mixed with the sink water, turning it pink. He wanted to throw up. When he turned back around, Roger was kneeling next to Aprils body. Mark watched as sick realization sunk into him.   
“April, baby no no no. You can’t-you told me you wouldn’t leave me. I shoulda been there fuck no. I can’t-no…April..wake up. Please wake up.” Roger shook her helplessly, tears were starting to make their way down his cheeks. He continued to beg for her to come back.   
“April why did you do this. Why didn’t you..” His voice trailed off as his body began to wrack with sobs. He turned desperately to Mark.  
“Can we, can you-Mark do something. Help her, help…HELP.” He shouted the last word, then continued to sob. Mark, helplessly stood there, knowing she was long past saving. He knew Roger knew that too. He looked back down at April’s body and suddenly was unable to control the urge to throw up anymore. He spun around to the toilet and emptied his stomach into it. As if on cue, Roger turned away from April and threw up as well. Mark didn’t know what to do, so he did the only thing he could think to do. He exited the bathroom and walked over to the telephone. His hands were shaking so badly, he struggled to hold the phone. He dialed Collins’ number. It rang three and a half times, then Collins’ picked up.  
“Hey man! What’s up?” Mark realized that he didn’t know why he called. He didn’t know what to say, or what he wanted Collins to do.  
“Mark? Dude, you there? What’s going on.”   
“April-she. Collins I found…Roger is-help, Collins. Please.” Mark’s voice shook as he spoke.  
“What happened? Mark? No- don’t tell me now. I’m on my way.” With that, Collins’ hung up the phone. Mark remained standing for a minute, the phone still resting against his ear. Finally, he let his hand drop. The phone clanked to the ground and Mark slid down the counter until he was sitting on the floor. He could still hear Roger’s cries coming from the bathroom, but could not move. He needed to help Roger, he needed to get to Roger. But he could not move.   
Five minutes later, Collins burst into the apartment. He walked to Mark and started to ask something, but before he could finish, they heard Roger wail in pain. Suddenly, feeling came back into Mark’s legs and he sprang to his feet, following Collins to the bathroom. Roger had begun to slit right wrist, the same razor blade that April had evidently used tracing his arm. Mark watched as Collins yanked the blade out of Roger’s fingers without hesitation. He held Roger close to his chest as he looked around the horrid scene of the bathroom. Understanding dawned on his face as his eyes rested upon April and the note.  
“Fuck…” He murmured. Then he quietly lifted Roger up to a standing position, wet a washcloth and silently cleaned the blood off Roger. Roger had stopped crying. His eyes were glazed over and he allowed Collins to lead him to his bedroom and tuck him into bed. Collins returned to the bathroom and grabbed Mark’s arm, pulling him out of his trance.   
“I’ll call someone to take care of her. Go to Roger’s room. Stay with him.” Mark nodded and numbly walked into Roger’s room. Roger was lying in bed, still in shock. Mark sat on the floor at the end of the bed and listened to Roger’s breathing even out. Eventually, around four in the morning. Roger was asleep. Mark decided he could try sleep too and dozed off into a rough sleep.  
The next week went by in a haze. Collins stayed at the loft and looked after Mark and Roger. Roger did not come out of his room and barely ate anything. Mark on the other hand, went out of the loft as often as possible. He walked aimlessly through Greenwich Village and filmed various, pointless things. He forced himself to eat and eventually focused all of his emotions into helping Roger.  
More weeks passed and Collins deemed it safe to start living in his own apartment again. Mark was numb. He went through the motions from day to day. Sleep an hour, get up, cook breakfast, try to coax some food into Roger, watch Roger shoot up. Repeat.   
It hit a point where Mark did not feel, he only helped. He held Roger as he cried, picked him up from the ground when he passed out from heroin use. He woke Roger up from his notorious nightmares and calmed him down until he could breathe again. He could feel himself bottling up the emotions, but found himself not caring. He was fine, he had to be the fine one. Roger lost his girlfriend to suicide. Roger was dying of AIDS. Roger was hurting. Mark couldn’t hurt. Mark had to be strong. He was good at hiding emotion. He was good at not breaking. He kept up his act for three months. Then one night, his world finally collapsed on him.  
He sat on the floor at the edge of Roger’s bed as he had done every night since they discovered April. He used to wait until he heard Roger’s breaths even out as he fell asleep, then he would sleep himself. However, Mark rarely ever slept anymore. He usually waited for the sun to start to rise, then he would get up and make a pot of coffee.   
He looked at the clock. It read 5:23 am. The numbers on the clock her bright and red. Red was a rude color, he thought. It made things too bright. Shirts don’t look good in red. Girls with red lipstick were often trouble. Red seemed to be everywhere, though. Red was the color of blood. Blood that can infect someone with a terrible virus. Blood that can keep you alive. Blood that can run out. Blood does run out. She ran out of blood. She died because she ran out of blood. He discovered her, surrounded with blood. Blood pooled around her and as he knelt down next to her, blood surrounded him. Blood that could have killed him. Blood was everywhere. Blood that indicated death. Death that broke his best friend. His best friend almost died that night too. Fuck that, his best friend is dying. Then Mark will be alone. Blood will have killed Roger too.   
Mark felt his chest constrict tightly. It hurt, he was hurting. Fuck he couldn’t breathe. He was alone. He was so alone. One day, Roger will really be gone and he will really be alone. Everything that he had bottled up for three months began to pour out of him. His heart beat picked up uncontrollably and Mark gasped for air. Air that wouldn’t come. Fuck what if he was dying? What if something was wrong with him too. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t see. He was too hot. He was shaking. He could hear himself hyperventilating. His chest hurt so much. A pained sob escaped his lips. The kind of sob that you do when you are in too much pain not to cry. He was getting lightheaded from hyperventilating. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe. Fuck. He really couldn’t breathe. He needed help. He tried to call out to Roger, but all that came out was a cough. He buried his head between his knees, trying to find breath. He couldn’t hear anymore. The ringing in his ears had grown too loud. He kept trying to take in oxygen. He wasn’t getting any air. Wow, he was fucked.  
Suddenly, he felt two hands grip his shoulders tightly. He leaned into the touch. The touch was reassuring, welcomed. He registered someone talking frantically, but he was still unable to make out what they were saying over the ringing in his ears. He ignored the voice and focused on the touch until the ringing died down.  
“Mark! Mark, dude please answer me. What’s happening??” He looked up to see Roger kneeling in front of him, worried eyes boring into his own panicked ones.  
“Hurts Rog-” Mark choked out, still gasping for air.  
“What? What hurts?” Roger asked, panic leaking into his own voice. Mark raised a shaking hand to his chest.  
“What? Your chest hurts? Are you sick?? Should I call 911-“  
Mark shook his head frantically, “No-not sick..I-“  
He cut himself off, unable to continue his talking over the tightness in his chest.  
“Then what?” Roger demanded, “Do you have asthma or something? Where’s your inhaler??” Mark shook his head again and squeezed his eyes shut, another sob escaping him.   
Roger didn’t say anything for another minute until, “Oh..ohmygod. Mark, is this-is this a panic attack?”   
“I think so,” Mark said through clenched teeth, “I can’t breathe, Rog. I really can’t-oh god.”   
“Whoa whoa whoa okay dude, uhh, you just need to calm down-“ Roger said, trying to steady his own voice.  
“No shit!” Mark snapped.  
“I know, alright uh okay. Just try to take a deep breath for me, okay? Like this.” Roger sucked in a deep breath through his nose and let it out slowly. Mark did his best to imitate him, his breath sounding shaky as he did so.  
“Good. Again? No, Mark-“ After not feeling a satisfying breath, Mark had succumbed back to hyperventilation. He squeezed his eyes shut and tears forced their way out of his eyes, rolling down his face.  
“Okay, buddy, let’s go.” Roger said, hoisting Mark up. He maneuvered the two of them to his bed, the propped himself up to sit against the headrest. He positioned Mark to sit up against him, between his legs. He began to breathe deeply in and out and in and out. After five more excruciating minutes, Mark began to match his breathing to Rogers.  
“That’s it, there ya go,” Roger whispered to Mark, as he continued to deeply breathe, “You’re getting there.”   
Several more minutes passed and finally, Mark’s breathing was back to normal. He sat for a few minutes, his head spinning. Then, he moved off of the bed and back onto the floor. Roger followed and sat next to him. They sat in silence until Mark spoke.  
“Sorry-“ Mark began.  
“No,” Roger cut him off, “Do not apologize for that, you couldn’t help it.”  
It was quiet for a few more moments, then, “Thanks Rog.”  
“Anytime Mark.”   
“I’m tired.”  
“I bet, do you wanna try and sleep?”  
“Yeah I guess.”  
“You sure you’re down from it?”  
“Yeah..I think. Thanks.”   
“Alright, no problem.” Roger didn’t push, he knew Mark didn’t like to be babied or to have excessive amounts of attention on him. He watched Mark leave for his room, then waited a few minutes to ensure that he was in bed. He then moved to the living room and spent the rest of the morning on the couch, listening for signs of trouble from Mark’s room. Nothing came and the sun rose. Mark slept until noon.  
Mark awoke groggily around 12:30 and sat up. He had a massive headache and strolled out of his room to find water. Roger was already up and in the kitchen.  
“Hey man, how are you feeling? I made some breakfast.”  
“You made breakfast?” Mark asked incredulously.  
“Yeah, I mean least I could do for you. You had a pretty rough night last night.” Roger shrugged, sliding some eggs and sausage in front of Mark, “Want anything else? Water?”  
“Yeah, I’ll take some water. Thanks.” He replied, shoveling a forkful of egg into his mouth. Roger set down a glass in front of him, then sat down across from him.   
“So,” Roger began, “Want to talk about it?”  
Mark looked up at him and shrugged, “No, not particularly.”  
“You sure? I mean that was kinda bad and-“  
“Roger, please.” Mark said closing his eyes, “Leave it.”  
Roger studied his face for a minute, “Okay, but if you need to talk, I’m here.”  
“Thanks.” Mark muttered and turned back to eat his eggs. It was quiet for a few more minutes, then Roger stood up abruptly.  
“I’ll be back.” He said. His tone had changed to one of slight desperation and Mark looked up at his questioningly.  
“Where are you going?”  
“I haven’t had a hit since yesterday afternoon. I haven’t been sober for that long since before April-“ He paused, his voice seemingly failing him, “I’ll be back.”  
Mark watched him stalk back to his room and shut the door. He sighed and cleared his plate. Last night had been horrible, but Roger was sober. In that moment, Roger had been sober and had shown an ounce of care for him. Was it wrong that Mark almost missed that moment?


End file.
